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Merry Christmas & Happy Hanukkah!

From my family to yours, Merry Christmas, and Happy Hanukkah to my Jewish friends.

Blessings all around as you celebrate with family.

The Colorful Week That Was

My wife and I were busy last week. Everywhere we went, we saw color, literally and metaphorically. Color dominated, from flowers to birds to people to landscapes to food to sunsets.

Here are a few samples of the vivid, muted, and impressive hues we encountered as we traveled from Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley to the Piedmont of North Carolina and back.

We met good friends from Ohio for breakfast in Front Royal, Virginia.

We bought apples and fresh cider at a local orchard.

We enjoyed lunch with cousins from California and North Carolina.

Dan Nicholas Park Lake.
Textures and colors.
The Foot Bridge.
A multitude of greens.
A pristine lake.
Reflections.
The last lily bloom.
Muscovy Duck.
A migrating Bay Breasted Warbler.
A Great Blue Heron.

Dan Nicholas Park wasn’t the only place we saw birds. We sat in the shade and chatted while various species of birds visited our hosts’ backyard feeders.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

Of course, I had to include a sunset from Cannon Park in Salisbury, North Carolina.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

The evening we arrived home in Harrisonburg, Virginia, the aurora borealis brightened the night sky. The following morning, we had the first frost of the season.

On Saturday, we hustled from one event to another. It was Homecoming at Eastern Mennonite University, where our daughter is the athletic director. The highlight for us was the dedication of the new state-of-the-art track. The ceremonies culminated with a ceremonial lap around the track by significant donors, former track members, and current track members. The oldest participant to run was in his 80s. He runs every day.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

Sugar Maple leaves are peaking.

That evening, we watched our grandson lead the Rock City Regime as the drum major at a high school band competition.

The colorful week ended with a welcome home by late-blooming clematis.

Summer’s Last View

A lazy Sunday late summer afternoon. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

My wife and I were enjoying a scrumptious brunch with friends of ours. The conversation was as delicious as the fare.

Not having been to this winery before, I was focused on the menu and the venue. Then I noticed the view.

Beyond the old farmhouse with its red brick chimney, the blooming crepe myrtle, and the leaves of the hardwoods waiting to transform into golds, russets, and bronze stood the stoic Massanutten Mountain range. It’s one of the shortest mountain ranges in the world, covering 50 miles from near Front Royal south to Harrisonburg, Virginia, in the Shenandoah Valley.

The scene gave me hope. It was an excellent way to bid summer adieu and envision a fall full of color and coolness.

Reality vs. Fantasy

Sometimes, reality is stranger than fantasy. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

When I happened upon this tender scene, I did a double-take.

My wife and I had joined an entourage from church for a Sunday afternoon of baptisms for three teens in the chilly mountain stream. After the dunkings and the celebratory congratulations shared, I wandered away from the rest of the revelers to see what I could find.

Scores of Pipevine Butterflies and Tiger Swallowtail Butterflies flitted through the woods. They danced carefree from rays of broken sunlight to dense shade, oblivious to the human invaders.

I certainly didn’t expect to find a cat casually nursing three young ones in the forest. And I especially didn’t expect to find a stuffed cat and her young stuffed kittens. But that is exactly what I discovered.

Some children not connected with our group were splashing in the nearby stream. Perhaps one of them thought this wild cherry tree along the banks of the Dry River at the base of Shenandoah Mountain was a lovely and safe haven while romping in the water.

I’ll never know for sure, but this composition of fantasy playthings among nature’s real and evolving habitat was too good not to share.

There’s Great Joy in Decluttering

The cowboy hat. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

My wife and I have been cleaning the house item by item for longer than I can remember. And we’ve been married for 53 years.

She has always been ahead of me in the disposing game. I’m finally beginning to understand the joy of discarding items I have clung to for far too long.

Gone is the brown felt stetson cowboy hat my daughter’s family gave me as a gift years ago when they lived in Texas. It was a striking hat, but I seldom wore it. So, why should I keep it?

To be considerate, I asked my daughter if she cared if I gave the hat away. She just smiled and said, “It’s your hat. You can do whatever you want with it.”

Of course, I knew that, but I wanted to be sensitive to her since she had purchased the thing. I could have donated it to a thrift store, but I didn’t.

Guess where the stetson ended up? Back in my daughter’s household. Her second son, 17, jumped at the chance to own it. He hopes to have a hatter stretch it so it fits him.

Knowing that the hat has a familial home has instilled as much pleasure in me as having received it in the first place. Isn’t that the point of decluttering your life, especially when you’re 76?

Our two-year-old grandson loves to dress up as a firefighter, among other wholesome job roles. I kept my old helmet from my volunteer firefighting days. The black fiberglass headgear, long lacking necessary safety standards, still has my uniform number, 828, emblazoned on it.

When I offered it to his parents for their son, they declined. I wasn’t either surprised or disappointed. The thing has too many places for tender little fingers to get pinched or cut.

So, the same grandson who confiscated the cowboy hat will also own my helmet. I don’t know what he will do with it, but when I hand it over, I’m sure he’ll ask questions about emergencies to which I responded. I have a storehouse of tales to tell him.

My old fire helmet. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Our teenage granddaughter didn’t hesitate when I offered her a t-shirt from a favorite burger place on the island where we wintered in Florida. Our daughter’s family joined us for a few days a couple of times, and the grandkids loved that restaurant, too. Many snowbird memories passed to her in that faded shirt.

When our son and daughter were young, I brought out my old model train set at Christmas and continued that through the toddler years of the grandchildren. Now, our son has it to entertain his son. I don’t have to be there to know and sense the joy of a child and his father connecting one track segment to another until the oval is complete. Just mentally picturing that scene is enough.

A teen I mentor enjoys birding but needed a bird guide. Over the years, I have collected many books on birds, so it was no sacrifice to give this enthusiastic youngster a field guide I cherished so that he could, too.

I have an old black-and-white photo of four of the 28 fourth-grade students from my first year of teaching. I will send it to the one Amish boy in the picture, knowing he would revere it more than me. He will remember and tell his grandchildren when his fourth-grade class created a radio station.

I discover new items daily that equally resurface loving and sad memories. If I don’t need the apparel, souvenirs, or keepsakes, I gladly pass them on to the younger generations for posterity. I’ve already had mine.

Sharing the Joy of Nature

Teens learning about Big Meadows in Shenandoah National Park. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

This is the third installment of a series celebrating National Park Week.

I often hike alone. But occasionally, I enjoy sharing my love of nature with others.

The church I attend has a mentor/mentee program for youth. A friend and I each serve as mentors for two teenage boys. Knowing we all enjoy the outdoors, we took them for a day trip to Shenandoah National Park last summer. We had a riot.

These energetic young men enjoyed every aspect of the trip. They loved the hikes and the enthralling views. They also identified birds, flowers, and rocks and occasionally pestered one another. A pair of fawns grazing at the edge of Big Meadows startled us as we walked along the union of the meadow and the forest.

We rested on a rock outcropping overlooking the always lovely Shenandoah Valley. The boys loved scrambling over the ancient rock formation and resting in the warm sunshine, basking in all nature’s glory. Given our generational spans between teens and septuagenarians, I marveled at our common contentment.

But that, in part, is what national parks are for. People of all ages, races, religions, backgrounds, and interests feel at home in our nation’s beautiful national parks.

Our excursion was a perfect example of how to celebrate National Park Week.

Now I Understand Why Seniors Guard Their Daily Schedules so Closely

Day hiking the Appalachian Trail in Shenandoah National Park. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I always needed a clarification. I was the marketing coordinator for a continuous care facility 10 miles from home.

Part of my responsibilities included writing a quarterly newsletter that featured people from every aspect of the campus. I interviewed residents in the nursing home, assisted living, independent living, and even employees.

Most residents welcomed me into their living space, gladly answered my questions, and allowed me to photograph them, often with a piece of quilting or carving they had done. It was the reaction of other residents that threw me off. Some declined when I asked them to be interviewed for the newsletter, while others said they were too busy.

I thought to myself, “They’re in a retirement community. How can they be too busy to be interviewed for half an hour?” So, I asked them for an alternative date. Again, they would offer an excuse that I couldn’t come that day because they had a doctor’s appointment, a friend was coming for a visit, a hair appointment, or some other reason at a specific time.

I stayed persistent and said I could come well before or after their appointment. Most declined, saying to pick another day that suited them. It usually was a day they didn’t have anything planned.

Sunrise at the Ohio retirement community where I worked. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

That should have been my first hint. Still, I didn’t quite understand why they couldn’t see me in the morning when they had a late afternoon appointment.

I do now. I held that position 20 years ago. At 76, I am the age of some of the folks I interviewed. I find myself repeating their behavior.

My wife and I retired, but not to a retirement community. We live in a ranch home on a third of an acre. We downsized considerably when moving from our long-time Ohio home to Virginia’s lovely Shenandoah Valley to be close to three of our four grandchildren.

I’m done for the day if I mow the yard, which usually takes about an hour and a half, including trimming. Out of sheer fatigue, I readily turn down opportunities to fill in the rest of the day. The only exception is if one of the grandkids has a concert or baseball or volleyball game.

After an exerting project, I am more than content to sit on my lounge chair on our screened-in back porch and read or relax. Even though I exercise regularly, I need to recharge the next day.

I am even careful about scheduling anything other than a doctor’s appointment on a single day. I have to drive across town to get to the medical office. I always wonder what traffic will be like. Our small city hosts two thriving universities, several non-profits, and many businesses and residences, including many townhouses and condos serving as college student housing. Plus, I have to cross an interstate highway that runs right through the middle of the city, with vehicles entering and exiting. As much as I like to drive, it can be stressful.

So, I confess that I didn’t fully realize the effects of aging. In my 50s, I was still raring to go. In 2024, not so much. I still walk, hike, and do photography, and I am an active bird watcher. Those I can combine in one outing. But not if I have another kind of commitment that day. I spread out the activities in which I partake.

So, to all those former residents in the retirement community, I apologize for shaking my head at your excuses. I now guard my daily schedules like you did all those years ago. Thanks for the life lesson, even though I learned it too late.

The author at Hawksbill Peak in Shenandoah National Park. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Snow on the Mountains

A view of the snow-covered West Virginia mountains.

My wife and I spent a wonderful long weekend visiting family and friends in Ohio. With a powerful cold front sweeping across the country, I suspected our return trip might be dicey since we had to travel through several mountain ranges to return to our home in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.

To avoid slippery roads, we waited until the warnings and advisories for heavy snow expired before setting out. That still gave us time to arrive home before dark as long as the roads were clear. Fortunately, they were.

The snow appeared as soon as we began to climb in elevation east of Morgantown, West Virginia. The tall, dark, barren trees sprouted from a light snow covering. The beauty would only increase as we progressed southeast.

The highways in Maryland traverse mountains that appear all scrunched together. The effect is that you are riding across the mountaintops without ever descending into deep valleys. There, the storm had frosted entire woodlots with powdered sugar. Inches of snow stuck to the tree branches and trunks and covered the forest floor and adjoining farm fields. It was gorgeous.

I stopped several times for photos. However, we saw numerous scenes without a safe place to pull over. Those images will have to remain pleasant memories.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

Since I couldn’t stop along the narrow, winding state route, I chose several county roads for photos. I didn’t have to go far. It was like we had driven into a black-and-white movie from the 1950s. Forboding dark clouds enhance that effect.

We continued our trek south and east into West Virginia. The snowy, panoramic landscape became wide open once we hit Corridor H, U.S. 48. We took advantage of highway overlooks for thrilling shots.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

In Maryland and West Virginia, giant windmills swooped their massive blades round and round. Despite their distance from us, the noise shocked me when I exited the vehicle for photos.

The valleys became more expansive, and the mountains steeper as we continued east. As the National Weather Service predicted, areas above 2.000 feet in elevation received the heaviest snow. The lowland had little to no snow at all.

A sunlit mountainside near Baker, West Virginia.

The farther east we traveled, the more frequent the breaks in clouds, which allowed the late afternoon sun to break through. The contrast between the sunlit and shadowed snow created lovely shade and color contrasts.

As we entered our beloved Shenandoah Valley, snow had all but disappeared. Only the higher ridges remained white. The morning photos of friends on social media showed the comeliness of the snowfall in the valley, with the snow-covered old-age mountains as a beautiful backdrop.

Still, we were happy to have seen the snowy sights and thankful for cleared highways, and to be home.

Cattle grazed beneath the snow-covered Allegheny Mountains near Lost City, West Virginia.

Street Photography With a Twist

I love photography. It keeps me alert for the extraordinary while doing the ordinary. In this case, I was with my wife, her cousin, and her husband, all septuagenarians.

We get together every so often about halfway between our home in Virginia’s lovely Shenandoah Valley and their abode in central North Carolina. Lynchburg is a handy place to meet up, a two-hour drive for each of us.

We like many of the same activities, like playing cards, dominoes, antiques, and birding. We also enjoy casual strolls along city streets and well-marked biking and hiking paths. Lynchburg offers plenty of both.

Since we are not out to set any speed records on our walks, I can wander ahead and find the unusual among the usual rural or urban landscapes. Occasionally, I charge ahead too fast, and the others call me back to see what they have found. Together, we discover much to appreciate, ponder, and enjoy.

Take our most recent excursion, for example. Lynchburg is a city of hills and valleys, with a rich history, old buildings, waterways, sidewalks, cobblestone alleys, and lazy trails often following the winding creeks and the James River. One trail even had an old railroad tunnel, now lighted for bikers and hikers. The city is a paradise for photographers.

We came upon curious subjects to photograph every path we took. Along a creekside trail, we found this textured object. Any guesses? A tire? An alligator’s back? No to both. There’s a hint in the photo.

This is the closeup of an old fallen tree. The trunk was rotting away while its life-protective bark remained.

Not all photographic opportunities were so secretive. Still, using your imagination is critical. This old snag has stood the test of time, and the elements of four seasons have weathered into a once-living art object. Does anyone else conjure an owl flapping its right wing?

Speaking of living, this diminutive plant waved its once-green leaves red for the holiday season that is upon us. It is a volunteer burning bush, likely deposited by a seed-eating bird. There was no missing the bright color among all the trail-side leaf litter.

A short distance away, a competitor vied for attention. This sugar maple sapling shown like the sun on this dismal day. It made us all chuckle.

Not everything was so obvious, however. This photo has a complex combination of both natural and human-made actions.

Any idea what this abstract consists of? Look close. What’s on the left side? You are halfway home if you said a rock outcropping leached with calcium-laden groundwater. The right section is an old drainpipe. Some wannabe artists eliminated the plain rusty look by adding some pretty red and blue with a meaning. Those colors covered up some previous graffiti in faded white.

That pipe was a hint for us. The city lay just around the corner. We soon found this intriguing old set of double doors in a two-story brick building, likely once a warehouse during the railroad’s heyday. It faced the James River. The nearby trail was once a rail line.

A few steps away was a nearly block-long mosaic timeline of the history of Lynchburg. The blight of slavery was front and center. It’s an incredible piece of artwork often blocked by parked cars. This photo shows the intricate detail needed to tell the town’s story. I couldn’t imagine the time and effort it took to create this masterpiece.

We headed to the Amtrak train station away from Old Town. The building was magnificently reconstructed and expanded to hold city offices that had nothing to do with trains. We had a look around and came across some interesting finds.

An old luggage hand cart parked against the sturdy brick building caught my eye. No longer used, it can’t help but take train passengers and visitors back in time.

Across the street, an abandoned building seemed frozen in time. Dozens of solar bobbleheads danced behind a window in the late autumn sun. It was a curious collection that seemed abandoned, left to survive without human help.